"chipmunk" poems
a twig snaps beneath my shoe,
the sudden sound shattering the calm atmosphere.
sunlight dapples over my skin,
rippling across my clothes,
pooling in my cupped hands
as if i were holding it.
delicate leaves rustle overhead,
my attention to the emerald glow above only broken
by the hum of a bumblebee
buzzing its way to yet another flower.
trees, seemingly protective,
surround me,
their trunks a shelter for such a variety of creatures.
sweet birdsong echoes above.
a woodpecker taps a home somewhere to my left.
a chipmunk skitters across my path
and into the still ferns,
causing them to shudder.
the scent of soil, of leaves, of nature, floods me.
i wonder about the world,
about the mountains and about the sea.
about my friends, my family,
about strangers with lives
just as complex and unknowing as my own.
i ponder myself, my life,
where will i go?
what will i do?
will it all be worth it?
-l.s.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
Owl listened to Goose's secrets
Fishy could always use a smile
Duckie flew into many a dream
Cat lurked when the sun was high
Bear always gave the best hugs
Giraffe knew the summer's joys
Chipmunk shared in equal annoyances
Yet, Goose befriended them all
Owl was wise
Fishy was mellow
Duckie was comforting
Cat was kind
Bear was understanding
Giraffe was a laugh
Chipmunk was encouraging
And Goose loved them all
Duckie, Cat, Bear and Giraffe all
frequent the same little niche
Fishy swims down the street
from Chipmunk's tree
Owl and Goose fly in similar circles
And where would each be,
without the other
Our animal friends,
Or one another
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 11:23 AM UTC
Jake the Snake
F J McCarthy on Jan 9, 2009
Jake was a snake, who felt incomplete.
For all of his friends all seemed to have feet.
Jake had no feet and it made him so sad,
As he watched his friends run with the feet they all had.
The raccoon and the squirrel had big furry tails,
But all that Jake had were leathery scales.
Jake watched the birds flying up in the sky.
How wonderful indeed to know how to fly.
Jake watched the fish as they swam in the lake.
Swimming was one thing that was easy for Jake.
Sometimes he would swim, then lie in the sands.
He’d think how he’d look with feet or with hands.
One day he was laying in the sun on the sand.
When he heard such a noise he could not understand.
I must see what is wrong , Jake said with a frown.
For something is troubling the whole Forest town.
He saw all of his friends by the rocks on the hill.
Then he saw mother Robin and she looked very ill.
He asked his friend Mr. Rabbit why Mother Robin was crying?
“Her baby fell out of the nest while she was out flying”.
“How is the baby, was he hurt by the fall.?”
“the baby is fine, but he’s trapped in this wall”.
Jake studied the wall,and looked at the crack.
“Has anyone tried to get baby bird back?”
The chipmunk and squirrel said the crack was to small.
And not even the mole could dig through that wall.
Mr. Field-mouse said “I could fit through the crack.
But the bottom is deep. How would I get back?”
Then Jake started thinking and in the blink of an eye.
“I’m the thinnest of all so I’m going to try.”
Jake asked Mr. Raccoon to lend him a hand.
They climbed up the wall and Jake told him his plan.
Mr. Raccoon held Jake’s tail and lowered Jake down the hole.
Just then baby bird let out a wail, for Jake had found his goal.
“Climb on my neck ” Jake said to the bird “and hold on really tight.”
Raccoon pulled them up as the whole forest watched this wonderful Marvelous sight.
First came up baby and afterwards Jake.
Then everyone cheered what a wonderful snake.
He’s saved baby bird and everyone knew it.
Of all the forest animals only he could do it.
The chipmunk and squirrel and even the mole.
Had not a hope to get down that hole.
Yet Jake with his body so long and so thin.
Saved baby bird from the fix he was in.
Jake felt so happy, he didn’t need feet.
Or a big furry tail to make him complete.
“I am very complete”cried Jake. “I’m so happy to be just a snake.”
Then baby bird said in a voice rather small.
“Don’t make that mistake, your not just a snake.
Your my friend and a hero, your Jake the Snake.
The very best snake of all!
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
Happy Unicorn Poem
Prancing in the meadow,
Warm sunshine on her face
The happy unicorn did not see
The hunter’s hiding place.
Eating rainbow candy,
Smiling ear to ear
The happy unicorn did not know
The grim reaper lurked so near.
Singing gentle lullabies
To the butterflies,
The happy unicorn did not know
She’d cause them all to die.
Lapping at the trickle
Of the crystal, sparkling stream
The happy unicorn did not hear
The hunter’s arrow ZING.
A chipmunk tried to warn her
Squeaking out in fright
But it was simply much too late
With the arrow fast in flight
A pretty yellow songbird
Tried to knock the arrow off its path
But the arrow’s razor edges
Cut the songbird right in half.
Then a fuzzy little bunny
Jumped as high as he could jump
When the arrow passed right through his throat
He fell down in a clump.
A brightly colored butterfly
flew into the arrow’s way,
the arrow was not diverted,
It was not her lucky day.
Only three feet later
The arrow found its mark
Extinguishing forever
The creature’s living spark
The hunter popped up in delight
feeling quite a thrill.
That he would soon be famous
for his magical creature ****
He bounded through the meadow,
running toward the woods
yelling out in victory
“I always knew I could.”
He kicked aside the chipmunk,
He stepped upon the bird
He booted the bunny’s body
into a pile of mud.
He was almost to the butterfly,
When he stopped.
Dead in his tracks.
What he saw before him,
Caused his body to go slack.
He did not see a unicorn,
Lying lifeless there,
But it was his precious daughter
his own arrow in her hair.
The Old Enchanted Meadow
With deep magic all around,
Teaches lessons to all of those,
Who trod her sacred ground.
Today the hunter learned the most painful one of all,
A man who would **** a unicorn does not deserve beauty at all.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
If ever there was a time to stop breathing I chose a clearing at dawn.
A deer appeared right as the gleam of the sun touched the top of the forest line.
I heard a chipmunk scurrying across the oak roots rising from the ground.
A cardinal group begins to sing in the distance--as their sounds reaches me, I realized I have been distracted and turn my attention back to the fourteen point, white-tailed buck in the clearing.
I slowly lift my weapon.
I set my aim, positioning the cross (in the scope) at the shoulder of this magnificent creature, and I catch my breath.
The situation itself is far beyond a man simply taking the life of an animal--exceeds the thrill of a firing pin striking, creating an explosion that builds pressure, sending a six centimeter long, one and a half centimeter wide copper-coated bullet through the rifling pattern and into a target one hundred and fifty yards away.
I believe that Destiny brought us together based on the choices we both made.
I can only guess the animal's intentions (running away from a predator, looking for a mate, etc)
Myself? I am here because I argued with my wife of 25 years.
The deer drops to the ground.
We all make choices.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
Take me back to the cool summer mornings
Where the leaves fluttered with the breeze
Best friends, there was never a truer pair
Of better days there were none
Take me back to the sun’s triumphant return
When it’s first rays kiss the tranquil water
And spread the heat of passion to the rising world
Inviting us all to take part in their romance
When the side of the road was a gateway to our fantasies
We were free to dream and free to live
Among the playful rhododendron and the staid oak
Days melted away with the heat of life
If the wind on my face could bear my spirit
I could return once more to this time
And be content with the robins and blue jays of above
And the rabbit and chipmunk contemplating from below
But, it is not to be, wishful thinking is all
For today has its own magic, but no one knows the spell
Only yesterday can be uncovered, tomorrow hides anew
Under a new sun, who has yet to court the tranquil water.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:54 AM UTC
Good old Gregory Goose was Gladder than any Gander could be and not Just because Nelson the Ninja Snail had said he was "JUST-DUCKY" ! This was a Very Special morning for Gregory Goose, in Fact it was yesterdays Super Special situation that made His Delight so DELICIOUS. The comment by Nelson the Ninja Snail, had simply added to His Glory! Gregory's Special Situation Had been the Unexpected Announcement that HE was to be Named "TEAM-CAPTAIN" for the Annual "Hog Wallow and Here's Mud in Your eye" CONTEST ! ! "Oh the delight" He thought, "I am to be Captain, after waiting all these years". "ME" he exclaimed ! "Captain of the South Forty Blocks"...... "W O W ' ! ! At the most convenient time of the day, Harold Hippo, Candy Cow, Curtis Chipmunk, Marvin Monkey, Beatrice Bovine and Larry Lynx decided to make a Personal call on Good Old *GREGORY GOOSE . Keep in mind Now, That Harold, Candy, Curtis, Marvin, Beatrice and Larry we're the *INSIDE, of the "INNER-CIRCLE". JUST ASK THEM !! They were on the INSIDE ! ! Well, when Gregory Goose heard the Knock at the door, He opened it with a Great Big Grin, That ONLY Gregory could Give! Before Him stood the "J U D G E S " of All Contests and Efforts. *Gregory was Beside Himself ! ! Instead of Seeing a group of Smiles and Handshakes, He saw Staring Eyes, Necks that had been stiffened AND *Gnashing of Teeth. Beatrice Bovine was the First to Speak, "Gregory, it has been brought to our attention that you had a conversation with Nelson the Ninja Snail,, and YOU didn't Rebuke his statement of being called "JUST-DUCKY". "As a result of this, *WE decided YOU "Cannot Be" CAPTAIN of the Hog Wallow and Mud in Your Eye Contest, PERIOD ! ! Gregory Simply smiled, Looked Straight into their Eyes, Quietly said "BYE", Softly Closed the door.... Turned Grinning, Knelt to his Knees, PRAYING, Thanking GOD, for the FACT,, That he, Gregory, He was Made just a *LITTLE BIT PECULIAR ! !
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:19 AM UTC
With heavy sigh
A single leaf falls
The first I've caught in the act
It slides down my right shoulder
Kissing my skin with parched lips
'Save me,'
It whispers
"No,"
I sing
A single, skittering chipmunk
Bounds across the soggy banks
Of Lake Fred
Unafraid and nearly near enough to touch
But keenly and instinctually aware
Of my innate barbarism
He keeps his distance
"Did you see that?"
I call to him
Pointing to the crumpled leaf beside me
"Summer is dying."
The chipmunk stops
Cranes its neck and twitches its whiskers in consideration
And replies
'Of course it is,
What else would it do?'
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
As I, in the forest, stood
Pondering nature's wonder
I peered up at the canopy, so lush and green
Of which, I dallied under...
Hopping through the foliage
That stretched across the ground
A chipmunk hurried to a log
And alit upon it with a bound...
Underneath the stratosphere
High atop a tree
A large black crow, I did hear
Calling down to me...
Proceeding to the beach, so warm
My feet, prints in the sand, did form
As I dug in with my toes,
I felt the sun, so warm
My mood was of repose...
Seagulls, high above, did play
Hunting, calling, all the day
Upon the evening tide
Bubbles of white foam did ride...
The summer felt just like a friend
Although, I knew, it, soon, would end
My visit to this paradise
Concluded in a way, so nice...
I knew I would return, again
To the shores of Lake Michigan.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
You are not cute Poem
3/5/2014
“You are cute.”
No.
Cute is a creature,
A little woodland chipmunk,
And I have news for you.
I don’t eat acorns or live my life in that wrong tree you’re barking up.
I’m not the poster child of a PETA campaign.
No.
Cute is a bow on a neatly packaged gift.
One with some fancy pattern.
And I have news for you.
There is nothing neat about this package, nor is it seasonal,
It won’t arrive on your doorstep for a special occasion.
I’m packaged with so many deep layers you couldn’t have it open in time for next year’s Christmas.
No.
Cute is young and unprofessional.
A little child playing with toys.
And I have news for you.
I’m not your toy.
You can’t pick me up to play, at your convenience, to then drop me on the floor forgotten.
And I’m a grown *** man – nothing cute about hangovers, hair loss, bills to pay, and unwashed laundry.
No.
Cute is not what we should aim for.
Cute is a one-liner and I am a Master’s Thesis.
Cute is what you’ll say before you cruise me online, ***** me, and then you’ll try to use me.
I’ll tell you what is cute though – you feeding me such a shallow compliment,
When really you should be treating me to the five-course conversation.
Ask me about my credentials darling,
Bachelors Degree with double majors,
working on law school and a PhD.
And finally, No.
I’m not **** *** ***** ‘tool,’ ‘trick,’ or **** either…
That’s only on Tuesdays.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
I
the river
soars
like sun white
horses galloping,
shimmering, glistening
the gallop a harmony
of cacophony
to my listening eyes
what an idyllic
sky pink-azure
bringing excellence to rest.
tomorrow the white river
horses will fly like jazz
to my listening eyes
II
half stuttered premonitions ease
at sight of indigo accented flowers.
in goat land, clouds turn
to white wisps of doves.
the mountain
is
with us
a chipmunk at the summit
makes waves through the landscape
dancing like a tambourine
wishes and hopes curl
around my face enveloping
me in Washington air
I see you looking at the chipmunk
and smile like
really nice,
your
smile
is
really really
nice
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
i like to look in the mirror
and dissect the person staring back
until features are just jagged lines
and stolen shapes
protruding chin
witchy nose
curved into a long slope
a beard of pimples
surrounding small lips
and a mustache to strike envy into any man
caterpillar eyebrows
darker than the hair on my head
which is dry and flat and falls into my face
chipmunk cheeks
practically falling out of wide cheekbones
long legs
too skinny
knobby knees
hairy white tree trunks
that i suppose pass for legs
spider fingers
no curves
just a pale board
with eyes and skin covered in mold
and red
always red
from
tears
always tears
society's worst fear stares back at me
"ugly"
my own words
i say them to myself now
i see your point
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
Chipmunk, Chipmunk,
Where could you be?
Maybe in this pretty little tree?
I wish to meet you,
And become your friend.
Maybe I could crush to your little head.
Just promise me you won't scream,
If your blood travels downstream.
So come out little Chipmunk,
If you dare.
Ill be waiting,
Right here,
I sware.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
have you seen the chipmunk climbing up a tree
with his stripey coat as fast as fast can be
looking for his food a nut than he can chew
with his chipmunk teeth so he can bite through
jumping branch to branch an acrobat his he
a creature of the forest and a life so free
he has big long tail and stripes along his back
running up and down along the forest track
living in a burrow in the ground so deep
this where he goes when its time to sleep
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
Classic bier pose: eyes closed, arms folded over chest, everything aligned perfectly.
Peaceful, opposite of the turmoil in everyone around you.
You never did think about others at all.
In the flames I can see your body still.
Peaceful pose: gone.
Now: contortionist.
Eight-year-old Chinese gymnast,
perfect 10 I’d say, but perhaps I’m biased.
Over there the judge says 7.99;
stingy, just call it 8 even (or put the taxes in the **** score).
I think it was the stress of the audit.
That’s why your wife left,
the audit. And the hookers, you ***** *******
I’d **** on your pyre,
but all the alcohol would catch it on fire
and send it racing up to light ME,
instead of one of your nasty cigarettes.
Tax evasion, lying
(eight, count ‘em, eight dependents:
birds #s 1, 2, 3 (bird feeder pays for itself this way, don’t it?),
chipmunk, dog, the mouse in the cellar,
bird number 4 (only in the summer, not domesticated),
even the random fox), you name it.
How did you run that for so long?
Hero’s funeral, the great pyre, a pile of ashes.
Something a chimney sweep would leave,
and about as important. Did they ever find
cause of death—the wife?
Good, I helped her.
She needed a shoulder to cry on after you died,
and you sure as hell weren’t there (typical).
A pile of ashes,
ashes to ashes, etc., n’est-ce pas?
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
In the morning, I gather my thoughts of yesterday
Like the foraging chipmunk, collecting acorns
And stuffing them miserly in my jowls
The past is sustenance for a somnolent soul
As age condemns my faculties
I pull, from my once copious jowl
A jewel of sorts
A garnet set in fool’s gold
My memory is manufactured
Assembled and disassembled
No longer what was or is or will be
But was and is and never has been
I confine my thoughts to winter
Where barren fields and sterile trees
Offer less to recollect
And empty my jaws of these useless reminiscences
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
ashen wasteland
healed by dew
pulses, trembles
birthed anew
Mother beating
midnight drum
lily, crocus
cherry, plum
yearling stumble
hatchling drop
grizzly bumble
salmon flop
coyote howl
jackal bay
gleamy-eyed
they stalk their prey
brutal jaws
on tawny throat
****** tears
in tawny coat
feign o possum
flee o hare
saffron, saltbush
tulip, tare
Mother sows,
human reaps,
forward still
the forest creeps
hack and slash
slash and burn
maple, mayfly
buckthorn, fern
chipmunk gather
raccoon store
silence on
the barren moor
groundhog slumber
grizzly snore
knocking on
the Old Man's door
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
"All I Want" (A Day To Remember)
is for "You And I" (Anarbor)
to "Shine On" (Jet)
but it's not "All About Us" (He Is We, ft. Owl City)
and "If I Leave" (A Day To Remember)
will you come "And Run" (He Is We)
"A Thousand Miles" (Vanessa Carlton)
with me "When The Darkness Comes" (Colbie Caillat)
but let's not "Blame It On The Rain" (He Is We)
and don't think that my "Darkside" (Kelly Clarkson)
exists just to "Prove You Wrong" (He Is We)
I know "It's Complicated" (A Day To Remember)
but "Since U Been Gone" (A Day To Remember cover)
I've been feeling like your "Number One Enemy" (Daisy Dares You, ft Chipmunk)
and all I want to do is write you a "Love Song" (Sara Bareilles)
to show you that I'm "Still Into You" (Paramore)
So don't think that "Big Yellow Taxi" (Counting Crows)
is going to be your "Savior" (Rise Against)
but "Here It Goes Again" (Ok Go)
so don't think about "Everything I'm Not" (The Veronicas)
while I just sit here with "My Shiny Teeth And Me" (Chip Skylark)
trying to catch "Fireflies" (Owl City)
in a jar shaped like a "Skyscraper" (Demi Lovato)
so don't act like "It's The End Of The World As We Know It" (REM)
because in "One Week" (The Barenaked Ladies)
we'll all just be "Heroes And Thieves" (Vanessa Carlton)
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
have you seen the chipmunk climbing up a tree
with his stripey coat as fast as fast can be.
looking for his food a nut than he can chew
with his chipmunk teeth so he can bite through.
jumping branch to branch an acrobat his he
a creature of the forest with a life so free.
he has big long tail and stripes along his back
running up and down along the forest track.
living in a burrow in the ground so deep
this where he goes when its time to sleep.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
He’s not like the others,
he’s not even a wholly likable child.
I mean, he has the cute face
high squeaky voice
chipmunk cheeks.
It’s his personality,
his attitude,
it’s the fact that he’s only 7 years old
and already hates the majority of what he’s seen of this wide world.
It’s the fact that he manipulates everyone’s words
until he’s made the collage that meets his ideal visage.
He’s more than a handful.
He’s even more than a whole village’s armful.
And though I know a part of its’ the diagnosis
it’s hard to keep that in mind
all the time.
(It’s hard to forgive an unlikable child)
Even harder as he swings insults your way,
as you have to take off running after him for the nth time this week.
It’s hard keeping a straight face,
keeping the unflappable demeanor
through every offense.
It’s hard not to scream,
curse,
cry,
to remain the calm island in the face of the raging tempest.
But you have to.
(Even though he’s not the most likable child)
He is still a child.
And you’re loving compassion is stronger than his self destruction.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
I watch a cardinal fly
And a blue-jay perch
I see a squirrel climb up
That naked birch
All the dreams you see in me
Well, I see falling in the leaves
Those geese flock
And then ducks scatter
It's hard to focus
Over chipmunk chatter
All the life you see in me
Well, I see falling in the leaves
That dog barks
And then a girl cries
Then every bird
Escapes to the skies
Everything that you see
Well, all of it is leaving me
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 8:44 PM UTC
For the Chipmunk in My Yard
By Robert Gibb
I think he knows I’m alive, having come down
The three steps of the back porch
And given me a good once over. All afternoon
He’s been moving back and forth,
Gathering odd bits of walnut shells and twigs,
While all about him the great fields tumble
To the blades of the thresher. He’s lucky
To be where he is, wild with all that happens.
He’s lucky he’s not one of the shadows
Living in the blond heart of the wheat.
This autumn when trees bolt, dark with the fires
Of starlight, he’ll curl among their roots,
Wanting nothing but the slow burn of matter
On which he fastens like a small, brown flame.
From What the Heart Can Bear by Robert Gibb. Poem copyright ©2009 by Robert Gibb. Reprinted by permission of the author and Autumn House Press.
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Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
You eat a lot of things from tuber ware containers with a ***** fork
you haven't washed in weeks.
You pile mounds of ketchup on anything
literally everything you eat,
and you hold your utensils like a sandbox shovel
just stuffing the food in your mouth, filling your cheeks like a chipmunk,
yet somehow you still think you have the ability to talk.
You wash everything down with beer.
One kind of beer- nothing else.
I always ask for a sip and you just pull it away while pulling me in.
Your lips are warm and taste like venison, and the yellow light
of the kitchen makes your complexion look a little off
but your eyes are bluer than they've ever been.
You should see yourself stand there at the counter
trying to tell me some story I can't understand about what happened to you that day,
or that night, or maybe it was last week.
Your timeline's never been quite accurate, your memory skewed.
Sometimes I'll look at you in moments like this and mumble, "you're so ******* weird"
but truth is I love all the things you do.
It's bits like this that I miss when you're not there.
Like how you sleep with your elbows under the pillow, snoring so loud
I can't hear myself dreaming.
How you think just because you've memorized every movie ever
that means I have too,
and why it is I just laugh when you quote something I've never seen.
Especially, those times you look at me with this quizzical look
a great idea just sitting on your tongue, expecting something
when really it's just some silly thing you've thought about all day
just didn't know how to say.
I tell you constantly that I can't stand how you wait until the very last clean shirt
before you do the laundry,
how those loads and loads are a ***** to fold
but truth is I love how worn everything is.
I even love the way you sing in the shower, or in the car, or in after dark, or all the time.
I love the way you moan as the sunlight peaks through the window in the morning.
I love when you rustle up my hair after I just did it.
I love how you smear my make-up.
I love you all the time, when you're smart, a ******* rude.
And even though I'll say 100 times in a day that you drive me crazy.
I love all the things you do.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Oh, there you are...
Each mourning
I am taken aback
as I meet an array
of night time travelers
Lined up by size
Field Mouse, Seal Black Mole,
Ginger Chipmunk
piece de resistance...Grey Squirrel
Relieved of warm
tummies and hearts
(delectable within certain circles)
you have been gathered and
laid out with great
pride. Gifts by our
hunters of the dark
A moment as I honor each one
last rites whispered
I gently scoop you all up
timing critical
for the changing of the guards
three boasting cats come in...
three eager dogs going out...
Their anticipation thwarted
discovering that this
veritable feast has once
again been removed
♢
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Reflections on the Loss of Vision
by Michael R. Burch
The sparrow that cries from the shelter of an ancient oak tree and the squirrels
that dash in delight through the treetops as the first snow glistens and swirls,
remind me so much of my childhood and how the world seemed to me then,
that it seems if I tried
and just closed my eyes,
I could once again be nine or ten.
The rabbits that hide in the bushes where the snowflakes collect as they fall,
hunch there, I know, in the concealing snow, yet now I can't see them at all.
For time slowly weakened my vision; while the patterns seem almost as clear,
some things that I saw
when I was a boy,
are lost to me now in my advancing years.
The chipmunk who seeks out his burrow and the geese now preparing to leave
are there as they were, and yet they are not; and though it seems childish to grieve,
who would condemn a blind man for bemoaning the vision he lost?
Well, in a small way,
through the passage of days,
I have learned some of his loss.
For, as a young boy I endeavored to see things most adults could not—
the camouflaged nests of the hoot owls, the woodpecker’s favorite spots.
But now I no longer can find them, nor understand how I once could,
and it seems such a waste
of those far-sighted days,
to end up near blind in this wood.
Keywords/Tags: reflections, loss, vision, childhood, eyesight, perceptiveness, acuity, age, aging, cataracts, blindness, days, years, decades, near-sighted, far-sighted
What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch
What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ...
Both worlds grow obscure.
Published by ByLine, Mandrake Poetry Review, Poetically Speaking, E Mobius Pi, Underground Poets, Little Brown Poetry, Little Brown Poetry, Triplopia, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, PW Review, Neovictorian/Cochlea, Muse Apprentice Guild, Mindful of Poetry, Poetry on Demand, Poet’s Haven, Famous Poets and Poems, and Bewildering Stories
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 12:59 AM UTC